A friend asked me to write out for her what my passion is. We're working on a book project, so she kinda needed to know what I care most about in life. Sheesh. That's a hard question and I feel stuck, like I have to say something really professional. And goodness, anyone who knows me, knows that I'm the worst at being professional. I don't even iron my clothes. I don't even brush my hair all the time because it looks a little wavy when I don't brush it. And, that's not very professional. Everybody knows that.Well, I am good at rambling, so if you don't mind, I'm just gonna ramble around here and try to figure out what in the world my passion is. You don't mind do you? I am passionate about some things. Besides just chocolate and naps and Brent's beard. First of all, I'm passionate about li[...]

The air is chill now, so as this new season presses in, we take to more "field trips" to keep life interesting since we're not as inclined to play outside for hours. Today we decided to eat some lunch at McDonald's before hunting for books at the library. I ordered our food, trying to be polite and attentive to the lady behind the counter, while also attempting to keep an eye on my rascally children. Mama's need eyes like chameleon's. I think it would be most helpful, to be able to see two places at once. Although, I suppose that would be a little freaky. But, hey, freaky could come in pretty handy sometimes, too.I couldn't help but notice the colorful crowd that a small town McDonald's on a Friday afternoon can draw. There was this one couple chatting rather loudly with another fellow, si[...]

I sat in this quiet cafe' over a grilled  ham and cheese while my friend told me her story. How all her growing up years, she knew God was real but she just couldn't get why He was so intangible. Because, she just wanted to feel Him. To reach out and take a hold of Him somehow. But, she never could. And as I looked in her eyes, I could feel her ache. I had wondered it too, remembering how I'd laid in my bed on quiet nights, tears streaming with the deepest pain in my chest. And on those nights, I'd reached up, arms open wide, just wanting God to embrace me. Aching to be held. So many times, I'd wished I could crawl up in His lap, closing that cosmic gap between us. It had sent my heart pounding for heaven, in the wildest way.And as she poured out bits and pieces of her soul, I sat the[...]

Everyday when I wake up, I've got this longing in my deep down heart. I want today to matter. I want it to mean something. I want it to count. I'm not content to just exist. To let life whiz by while I overdose on the narcotic of busyness. So, in my getting from one end of the day to the other, I want today to matter and I want to feel alive.Yes, I want to feel life. Even the part that hurts. I want to feel all of it. Because even the hurting messy parts make me feel alive, and again, I want to feel alive. And I'm finding that I feel most alive when I see beauty. When I hunt for it and find it and then stand a spell and just savor it. And I think it's because God made me and He is beauty. That is, He is Beauty embodied and so He lights up the world with reflections of Himself and sometimes[...]

 Lord, You've given me a new day. And I can see that You're up to good things in the world, because You've called Your people to love. You say to us, "Do to others what you'd have them do to you." (Matthew 7:12) And I see that it's good that You tell us this, because this world is an awry place and it fixes things when we respond out of love.But, God, in and of myself, I don't have love. I mean, I can be nice. I can be polite. I can put up a good front when people are around, but when it's just You and me...well, You see. You see all the ugly on my insides. Seems I only love people when it's convenient. When they don't require too much of me. When it fits into my schedule. But, that's not really love. Isn't love made from sacrificial stuff? The kind that gives away, expecting nothing [...]

Sometimes love is in bedtime prayers. When you're plumb worn out at the end of the day, but you go ahead and cuddle next to your boy anyway and stumble out some prayers. Then you let him have a turn and you watch him fold his hands and rest them on his forehead and ask God for tractors and help to grow up and be strong so he can march in a hip-parade and blow a trumpet.Sometimes love is when your husband pitches a tent in the backyard. And he's up for adventure and asks you to spend the night with him under stars but you've become this sissy britches in your old age and you like the feel of your cool sheets and you're not getting up to go out there and be awake all night. And the two of you get in an argument the next day over whether or not you disappointed him and you both spill your gut[...]

I want to have unbroken fellowship with my Creator. The One who knit me together, who molded and fashioned me like clay in a potter's hand. The One who formed life from dust and makes beautiful things out of jars of clay. I want to hear His voice. To follow His lead. To feel His love.I want to gut-believe in the good hand of God toward me. To trust Him in a wild abandoning way. The reckless kind that knows no fear because of the sure belief that He is good and that everything He does is good and I am held. I want to breathe in and out His grace. To open my hand to whatever He gives. To know that whatever trouble and pain I stumble upon in the path ahead are not circumstances that I should fear, but life-lines meant to draw me closer into the tender heart of Him who one day will right [...]

Sometimes I whisper this question. I whisper it low, at times inaudible...just in my heart, because I'm almost ashamed to ask it. But still I ask because it's something I need to know. Something I need to feel, in the deepest part of me. God...do You love me? As in, are You real? And if You're really there, do You love me?  I asked this just yesterday, walking out of church. Down the ramp toward the parking lot, I asked Him again, timidly. Do You love me? I mean, I know it in my head. Heard it a thousand times. Didn't the preacher just speak it to me a dozen ways just minutes ago?  It's just that I know who I am. I see all my insides. I see the mess and messes aren't pretty and could it really be true? Holy God loving me?  My eye caught a glimpse of beaut[...]

I have been loved all my life. Yes, even the earliest part of my life--birthed to a mom and dad who really didn't have much to give--so wrecked they were by drugs and alcohol. Even then, they loved me the best they could.  And they loved me most when they let me go...so I could be loved better.  And the Ma and Pa I have now? They loved me deeply. (Still do.) Now, they weren't perfect either. There are some days they would probably like to erase. (Don't we all have those days?) And even though there were hard, hard times between us, I always knew, always knew that they loved me more than anybody. I never once doubted that. Not even on the loud yelling days. Or the it's-too-awkward-to-even-talk-to-you-days. Now, that's a lot of love. And this husband of mine? He really loves me wel[...]